The Affair of Spies Affair
by Nerdy Earthling
Summary: How well will UNCLE's dynamic duo team up with the newest spy on the block?
1. Chapter 1

THE AFFAIR OF SPIES AFFAIR

Summary: How well will UNCLE's dynamic duo team up with the newest spy on the block?

Disclaimer: I do not own the men from UNCLE, the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement itself, or the mysterious stranger.

A/N: I wish to extend a personal thanks to TheRimmerConnection: Thanks so much for beta reading! Your edits brought clarity and organization to my jumbled mess.

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Chapter 1

The military-grade armored car stopped at the Presidential estate gates right at 1:05 pm. It took the driver only six select coded words to inform the guard he was in a hurry, dropping off some VIPs, whose purpose of visit, like their identities, was a matter of secrecy. The guard recognized the driver, so he did not ask for his identification, or bother for clarification. Mario may have been good enough to guard the front gates of the home of the most important man in the country, but he only needed to know on a "need-to-know" basis, and the driver was that all-important and frequently-visiting Colonel. He had never seen the Colonel behind the wheel, but he was in no position to question. In fact, being a front gate guard, Mario hardly knew anything of what was going on other than entrances and departures. The coming ins and going outs—those were the concerns of his job.

Mario pulled out a flashlight to begin the cursory examination. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Colonel. Rather, it was part of his duty. He had to ensure that there was nothing dangerous. The other gate guard was already checking underneath and around the outside of the vehicle. It was all a very standard procedure. Next to the Colonel was a man wearing the military uniform of the neighboring country he and everyone else detested. That was quite a shock. Although it was bright enough inside, he allowed the beam to linger on this foreigner from a country he had never been to but hated all the same. The man was quite filthy. Perhaps he had been sleeping in the dirt just like the rest of his kind.

The Colonel grunted impatiently. Mario moved on, pointing his beam up at the car's roof.

He leaned through the driver's side window to get a clearer view of the back. There were an additional two passengers. One of them he recognized instantly as Sasha, the President's missing daughter. He had rarely seen her in person, but her face was well-known to the public, especially following the dreadful kidnapping. If it weren't for that, he almost wouldn't recognize her with her hair done up and dressed in the kind of outfit he had seen in photographs of Western go-go dancers. The man next to her looked to be in his underclothes, although he couldn't swear by it. Staring at half-naked men always made him feel something more than uncomfortable, and duty demanded he continue by checking the sides of the interior.

The Colonel impatiently tapped the face of his imported Rolex.

If circumstances were different, Mario would have called in for backup. He could have first scoured the automobile for anything potentially hazardous, anything that might "legally" enablethose with greater expertise to deal with the unusual not this could feel the Colonel staring impatiently at him with his one good eye, if not through the eye patch as well.

He stepped back from the car.

"That's enough!" Mario barked at other guard. He didn't really mean to shout at all, but he couldn't help feeling very nervous. His predecessor had been summarily dismissed by the Colonel for "inefficiency".

Mario slid open the tall iron gate. The entrance was just wide enough when the vehicle lurched forward. He released the bars and gave a salute just in time as the vehicle passed. He watched it retreating for a moment before reaching instinctively into his pocket to pull out a state-issued, rationed cigarette. It was a treasonous thought to be sure, but Sasha looked adorably attractive in the Western getup.

Meanwhile, in the military vehicle, Sasha spoke.

"Oh, I need to see Father. This is all his fault." She clutched her folded arms closer to her chest.

"We're going to see him straight away," Napoleon Solo said, laying a hand on her shoulder. By this time the gesture had lost some of its reassuring quality. Sasha was becoming more and more petulant as they neared their destination. "I'm certain he only wants to see his daughter safe."

"And the documents," the Colonel blurted unnecessarily.

Napoleon kept his eye on the winding road. He noticed soldiers scattered all about the premises and focused back on the girl. The slightest provocation could cause another delay and possibly trouble. The last thing everyone needed was UNCLE's finest causing another hold up.

The estate was large but the road soon made a wide turn to pass just in front of the mansion. The sheer opulence of the place was more than indicative of the government's inherent corruption.

"Visitors," the Colonel grumbled, pulling the vehicle alongside a curb and just behind a car parked directly in front of the entrance.

The Colonel was the first to get out, slamming the car door behind him.

"Thank you _so_ much for everything, Mr. Solo," Sasha said in whiny tone mixed with coquette. She ended her words with a suggestive smile.

Illya Kuryakin could barely believe he had half-expected her to say his name as well. After all, he was only the one who had obtained the documents and the transport. He followed the Colonel out of the car, just as Napoleon was about to make one of his trademark flirtatious comments. Illya figured it would be the "stimulating company" line.

A guard was already talking to the Colonel. As Illya approached, the guard noticed, his neutral expression changing to aghast anger. No doubt it was the uniform. The Colonel looked over his shoulder and gestured Illya to approach.

"The two men are guests," the Colonel said sternly. "They've been here before."

"Sir, the President is not receiving anyone." The guard sounded very uncomfortable as he spoke.

"Does it matter!" the Colonel snapped. "Sasha is in the car and I think _he_ would want to see her!"

Napoleon Solo was helping the daughter out of the car just as the Colonel spoke. The girl looked over at the sound of her name. As she stepped down, she held onto Napoleon's hand tightly. Her knee-high, neon green boots were even more eye-piercing in direct sunlight.

"I'm back and this is the way you treat me and my friends?" She asked her rhetorical question with a girlish pout and hands on hips. "We want to see Father, _now_."

The guard straightened. Either he was taking the words of the President's daughter seriously or he was trying to ignore the bit of shapely leg between the boots and tight miniskirt.

"I apologize," the guard said, his eyes now on Napoleon. He continued to stare at the man wearing only an undershirt, boxers, and socks, saying nothing. Napoleon cleared his throat. The guard immediately diverted his gaze back to the Colonel. "Do you wish me to escort you and your party to the President's office?"

"That won't be necessary."

The Colonel brushed past the guard to the house. They all followed with Napoleon walking very gingerly on the cobbled pathway.

"What was the hold up?" he asked.

The Colonel turned his head but Napoleon was just out of his field of vision. He had to twist his torso to get a view of the UNCLE agent.

"A conference. The President is refusing any calls or visitors," the Colonel explained. "We will be the exception." He smiled curtly.

"I can't wait to be back in my own room and take a long bath!" Sasha sighed as they stepped through the ornate double doors into the foyer. It had been a while but the UNCLE agents remembered the layout well.

The Colonel led the way up the stairs and down the long hallway. It felt good on Napoleon's feet to walk on soft velvet carpeting. He glanced awkwardly at the guards lining the corridor who definitely took notice of what must have been the most unusually-dressed visitors they had ever received. Napoleon had thought they might eye the very attractive young woman, but most fixed hardened stares on Illya, or strangely amused ones on himself. Not that what the President's personal elite guard thought really mattered. They had completed the most difficult part of their mission. Next would come the less-glamorous part of the job—writing another long report to be briefly reviewed and filed away into obscurity back at headquarters.

Down at the far end was a desk with an adjutant seated on the other side. He stared at their approach, blinking, but did little else.

"You could've put on some clothes," the Colonel hissed at Napoleon.

"As you know, Colonel, I came straight over from my holding cell. I haven't even had the time to shave."

"And you have the documents?" The Colonel snapped at Illya.

"Of course." Illya spoke coolly, laying a hand on the front of his jacket. "They're safely stored away."

The adjutant stood and saluted the Colonel uncertainly. They all came to a halt in front of the desk.

"Well, announce us." The Colonel spoke brusquely and directed his attention away from the guard to the door on the other side.

"But...the President is in conference."

The Colonel walked straight past the desk. The man opened his mouth in objection.

"We have very important State information and the President's daughter," Illya explained, moving past him as well. "Understand we must see him urgently."

The guard stared wide-eyed at Sasha as she walked by with Napoleon.

"I have orders," he said lamely.

The Colonel looked behind him at his motley entourage before giving the door a quick rap and swinging it wide open.

The two UNCLE agents got a clear view of the Presidential desk with the President on the other side.

"I asked not—" The President cut himself off.

The Colonel entered, gave a stiff bow, and stepped to the side as Sasha strolled in, followed by the two UNCLE agents. Both noted the seated President. He had been smoking a large cigar which he discarded in a nearby ashtray as he stared, baffled at the newcomers.

"Dad, it's me!" Sasha cried, her face lit with an elated smile.

There were two chairs facing the desk, one to each side, both angled towards its center. A man and a woman were briefly seen in profile before they had turned to the door. The young woman's face was peering round the side of her chair and the man stood up; his face one that the UNCLE agents instantly recognized from their briefings.

"_Sasha?"_ the young woman questioned.

"_Mayra!"_ Sasha exclaimed and rushed over.

The other woman stood and they hugged. The two spoke excitedly in low whispers.

The other man, who strongly resembled the infamous resistance leader only known as Black Fox, looked over at the two women stupidly perplexed.

"Mayra, what...?" he began but was unable to finish.

"Black Fox?" Napoleon Solo questioned, not fully believing that this could possibly be the same man they had spent weeks evading.

The man grinned. But the toothy smile quickly disappeared as there was more rustling. Soldiers rushed in, startling everyone—except for the President.

"Arrest these men, including our dear Colonel," he said, rising from his chair and gesturing to each one with his eyes.

"Sir, we have something important that should interest you," Napoleon said quickly as two soldiers closed in on him.

"Wait," the President commanded.

He moved around from behind his desk and approached the agents. He squinted at Napoleon, then Illya. "You two will stay here." He took a confident stride towards the Colonel. "You will leave this office with these fine men. They will be escorting you to a cell."

"I don't—"

The Colonel tried to speak but was interrupted by the President.

"Take him away alive, but by any means."

The Colonel stared wide-eyed at his leader while two soldiers came at him from either side and grabbed an arm each. The Colonel struggled but the movements of the soldiers were quick as he was forcibly dragged. The remaining soldiers formed a ring around them. Only the tip of the Colonel's hat was visible as he and the soldiers all swiftly exited.

"_Daddy_!" Sasha's voice squealed in protest.

"You were expecting guests?"

An unfamiliar voice spoke out. Everyone turned in its direction. A man, looking to be in his mid thirties, was leaning against the wall, not far from where Napoleon Solo stood. He couldn't be sure whether the man had entered with the soldiers, or if he had simply been hidden from view up until now, out of sight of the entrance, perhaps lounging on the nearby moved towards them. The accumulation of so many characteristics—well-pressed gray suit, slight swagger, smoking cigarette between index and middle fingers, clean-shaven face, intense blue eyes—so evident at a simple, but trained, first glance, drew Napoleon and Illya to the conclusion that he was definitely not one the President's men. He was the most out of place, even more so than Napoleon in his underwear, and, perhaps, even more provocative than Sasha in the go-go outfit. Not that his accent made his foreignness any more obvious.

The stranger planted himself right next to Napoleon, seeming to towerat a height he guessed to be just over six feet. His lean athletic frame made him appear even taller. The stranger leaned in closer, at a distance that was far beyond intruding into his comfort zone, far closer than any man would dare go without intending physical assault. He was so close, Napoleon could clearly make out every freckle on his face, not to mention the slight waft of an unfamiliar cologne burnt by smoke.

"Not these men. They're just UNCLE agents," the President explained with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

The man turned away and stood next to the President. He eyed the two agents appraisingly as he took up an intimidating stance—one hand in pants pocket, the opposite leg bent—and drew on his cigarette. Napoleon noticed the girl Mayra was looking at the man with a more than fond smile. Sasha also smiled and batted her eyes at the stranger, a not-so-subtle bit of body language Napoleon recalled she had displayed to him when they first met.

"So you went through UNCLE?" the stranger asked, smoke escaping from his lips.

_British?_ Napoleon considered, although something was off about it he couldn't quite place. What sounded like to his ears a posh, clipped English accent with gravelly overtones. He narrowed his eyes as the stranger offered the two ogling woman a half-smile.

"UNCLE," mused the man, who surely had to be none other than Black Fox.

"What's going on, Father?" Mayra asked.

_Another daughter?_ Napoleon thought, raising his eyebrows.

"The UNCLE agents have brought your sister home." The President, half-leaning against his desk, then addressed Napoleon and Illya. "And they will be leaving us. Of course, gentlemen, you will be given the greatest care, if you chose to stay in my country, and you will have my eternal gratitude." He spoke with an unusual irritation and ended with a faux smile.

Napoleon Solo didn't speak, surprised and more than a little confused. He and Illya exchanged looks, each wondering what question would be best to ask with the leader of the nation seemingly more than content to have them leave ignorant.

"To tell the truth, I'm not certain where to begin," Napoleon said aloud.

"Sir," Illya said, picking up immediately, "I find your behavior rude and highly unprofessional. We have done exactly as instructed. We returned what you asked, and now you purposefully leave us in the dark."

The President folded his arms. The fake smile was gone. He no longer tried to hide his annoyance.

"Is this about those pesky documents?"

Even Illya looked very surprised at the President's use of the word "pesky" as the adjective to describe those very documents for whose return he had expressed such a great desire only a short time ago. Not only that, but he was now referring to their existence in the presence of his supposed rebel nemesis. His sigh, too nuanced for anyone else but Napoleon to notice, signaled his resignation to whatever ludicrousness may occur.

"Yes, I have them," Illya answered blandly.

"Documents?" the stranger questioned. As he exhaled, smoke continued to billow from his mouth and nostrils. "Now I'm curious."

"Just leave whatever you have on my desk."

Illya reached into the military jacket and took a few long strides toward the desk and set them down. They were enclosed in a plain manila envelope, so no one could physically look at the documents themselves, but everyone in the room eyed it keenly. Only the President seemed disinterested. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, only to cover it with the back of his hand as he yawned.

"What's this about?" Black Fox's voice bellowed.

The President turned to the stranger."You can turn the documents over to Black Fox."

The man raised an eyebrow. The President sighed.

"Do this one last thing, and I'll make certain you get your well-deserved vacation."

Now, the stranger looked amused.

"I'm obliged," he said and reached around the President for the manila envelope (located just inches away) and handed it over to the rebel a moment, Black Fox frowned down at the folder. He looked up quizzically, turning towards the President, when suddenly his face relaxed with understanding. His mouth formed another broad toothy grin, followed by a laugh. His laughter resonated throughout the room, reverberating off the walls. With all windows and doors closed, and the close proximity of the man, the hearty guffaw was made almost deafening.

"Oh, I love it when you laugh!" the other sister suddenly proclaimed, hugging herself in a fit of giggles.

"Sir, I really think you owe us an explanation," Napoleon said, choosing his words far more carefully than he had in the long time, "especially if you wish us to stay on good terms."

"I don't owe you anything." The President glanced at the stranger as he spoke those words. "You have returned my daughter to me. For that, I am grateful. Other than that, you _are_ intruding on a private meeting. I need you two to leave." He frowned at Napoleon Solo. "And I suggest you get some clothes on before you get arrested for public indecency."

The two UNCLE agents stared.

"I'm telling you to leave. That is not a request."

The stranger drew at his cigarette. The women were staring at him. Black Fox was tearing the envelope apart. Napoleon and Illya once again exchanged sympathetic looks of confusion.

"I suppose that's our cue," Napoleon said uncertainly. He thought he had a clever quip to make, but none came to mind. There was more than enough to keep his mind occupied.

They both started to walk out. Their pace was slow, still in disbelief. Napoleon glanced behind him, wondering if it all was going to end up being some sort of practical joke. The stranger made a tight-lipped smile around his cigarette and rolled his fingers against his palm in a mock wave. Napoleon eagerly closed the door behind him and his partner. They had actually walked the entire distance to the stairway, each replaying the events at the office, each starting to feel overcome with exhaustion, when Illya finally broke the silence.

"Don't ask me what just happened."

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A/N: I'd be ecstatic if there's someone out there who finds the stranger familiar...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin, isn't it a little late for April Fools?"

"Well, you know what they say, sir: Better late than never."

Alexander Waverly raised his eyes from the two newly-typed reports, laid side-by-side, to Napoleon.

"It is one of your more clever pranks. You and Mr. Kuryakin begin with a suitable introduction. The exposition is quite clear and detailed...until the very end. You had me quite convinced I was reading about another satisfactory assignment. I am rather old-fashioned in my tastes. I like a happy ending where good triumphs and everything is neatly wrapped up."

"And, traditionally speaking, it was a happy ending." Napoleon looked over at the Russian. "Wouldn't you say so Illya? We rescued the girl and returned the state secrets."

Illya kept his gaze on Waverly.

"I suspect THRUSH."

"And I'm not so certain." Napoleon said to Waverly. "Whenever we get close to anything THRUSH, they can't resist trying to take a bite at us. It wasn't like that. It was more like we were...uh...fired."

"Firing an employee without appropriate cause makes for bad business. The President claimed to be an enemy of THRUSH but did willingly admit to several minor acts of corruption. I recommend a thorough investigation."

Waverly spoke immediately, without any pause for consideration.

"That won't be necessary. There's little evidence of THRUSH activity or anything undue. Things have quietened down over there. As for the corruption, we were already quite aware of it. Their own people and policymakers have to sort that out for themselves. Since their government has an effective means of censoring all outgoing information, hardly anything is confirmed...other than the fact that two foreign agents solicited the help from a certain traitorous colonel. And about that: I'm assuming this traitorous colonel to be the same colonel whose arrest you witnessed?"

"Not a particularly charming fellow, but he did help us out. Of course, we didn't know he had turned against his government at the time. He..." Napoleon glanced at Illya. "Well, he was a good driver."

"I see. As it is, you and Mr. Kuryakin may not be personally at fault but such events do not help our image internationally."

"Neither would an UNCLE agent arriving at a top secret conference without his suit," Illya said with a sideways glance toward his partner.

"Or an agent who hadn't bathed in a week," Napoleon sweetly retorted. "I vividly remember the smell."

Waverly cleared his throat.

"Was there anything else, sir?" Napoleon asked.

"There is. An important matter, but first I need to know more about this..." Waverly scanned one of the reports. "Mr. Solo, you dub him 'the mysterious stranger.'"

"Seemed appropriate."

"Yes. How would you two describe him? What were your personal impressions?"

Napoleon rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to find less-offensive synonyms for the words that came to mind.

"Well, he was...smug...aggressive..."

"He was a prick."

Napoleon visibly recoiled from his partner. The Russian looked as subdued as ever.

"Illya, you surprise me. Where have you been picking up that sort of language? I don't know if I like these other agents you've been hanging around."

Waverly lifted the reports from the table, revealing a laminated white paper.

"Is this your mysterious stranger?" He turned it over and rotated the table top, sending the photograph to the two agents.

Napoleon did not have to stare long at the image for recognition to kick in. He had a good memory and the man was rather unforgettable as it was. But Illya was quick to speak up.

"Yes, that's him. Who is he?"

"That would be John Drake. He's an agent for M9."

"M9?" Napoleon smiled. "That sounds appropriate for someone of his...ego."

Illya folded his arms.

"And I thought we were always fortunate to only have THRUSH as our primary concern."

"No need to be anti-social. We are working on the same team. Isn't that right, sir?"

"Their secret service is something of an enigma. M9 is no exception, and perhaps even more so since its existence was never publicly confirmed. I have taken the liberty of contacting who I could through World Travel, their front. They couldn't reveal specifics but assured us Mr. Drake was only working in the best interests of his government."

"As long as Illya and I haven't walked in on some nefarious scheming, I suppose it's a matter of live and let live."

"I fear it's a little more than that. M9 has been in contact with this office for several days now. There's been a recent development which requires immediate action."

"Finally; I was wondering about those casebooks." Napoleon gave a quick nod to the files at the center of the table, then leaned back and stretched out his arms. Illya shifted in his seat as one of the arms barely brushed past his hair. He grunted a sigh as he let them drop. "Guess this means there isn't much hope for an early night's rest."

Waverly gestured to the casebooks, each emblazoned with the UNCLE seal. As Napoleon and Illya reached for them, Waverly rolled his chair back and reached behind him for the humidor. He prepared his pipe, allowing the agents to pore over their respective files. He lit it, initiating the briefing.

"Our friends at M9 have asked for our assistance on a matter concerning THRUSH. They have an undercover agent who poses as a courier. We weren't given any information on this agent, only that he was transporting some curious items to several suspicious persons. M9 judges the threat level to be relatively low. But when considering the large sums exchanged and the transportation of these items in bulk, it would foolish to pass up an investigation." Waverly gestured his pipe towards the agents. "Each of you has a photographed sample of the items concerned. Apparently, their man managed to buy a set."

Napoleon and Illya leafed to the black-and-white image of a rectangular strip imprinted with cryptic writing arranged into four rows. The scale ruler showed the paper to be roughly four by six inches.

"Larger than I would expect for only a few letters of code," Illya mused.

"There's a translation provided by our cryptographic services. Interestingly, it was in an older code we had broken months ago."

Napoleon found the passage and read the translation out loud.

"DL00178...56.06943 degrees N...4.38467 degrees W." He paused, raising his eyebrows in amusement. "June twenty-fifth to June twenty-eighth. Admit one. No refunds." Napoleon grinned. "Sounds like our British friends have themselves a ticket to a THRUSH concert."

"Perhaps."

"Err..." Napoleon hesitated, nearly questioning whether his boss was being sincere.

"An admission ticket?" Illya asked.

Waverly smiled weakly.

"Perhaps? We believe the first set of digits is a serial number. The numbers increase sequentially. The next series are coordinates, which are valid."

Waverly swiveled his chair and rolled towards the viewing monitor. A map was brought up on the screen. A thick horizontal red line cut across a plain background. A section of the line was circled in black ink.

"Gentlemen, the coordinates point to an area on the A81 in Scotland."

Napoleon frowned.

"Doesn't look like there's much out there. Hardly seems like the proper locale for THRUSH activity."

"The beautiful Scottish countryside? On the contrary, Mr. Solo, I suspect there isn't a place on Earth where THRUSH operatives haven't tried. In fact, I think it's astounding they haven't turned up in Scotland sooner."

"What exactly does M9 want us to do?" Illya asked, looking up from the file.

"I suspect they need advisers, and probably support in the field. They weren't particularly specific." Waverly paused. He briefly looked away from the agents to speak his next musing thought aloud to himself. "Typical."

"And is this the link to THRUSH?" Illya pulled out another photograph, showing a very recognizable and highlighted THRUSH bird.

"Only visible under ultraviolet light, but on every corner."

"That is a familiar sight." Napoleon paused in thought. "Although it does make me wonder why M9 is bringing this to us and not to one of our offices that isn't located across the Atlantic."

"Unfortunately, our major office in London is still officially compromised."

"More bad news?"

"No, no. Seems only one managed to slip in. But one is enough. The investigation remains ongoing. I realize this is unprecedented, but we're working with M9 on this one."

"Still, on such short notice—"

"Short notice is right," Illya interrupted. "I noticed the one-way ticket to London leaves in less than two hours and whatever event THRUSH is planning starts tomorrow. That doesn't give us much time."

"You're both on the earliest flight out we could manage. There is little more I can tell you while M9 holds all the cards." Waverly clasped his hands together in a finalizing motion. "M9 requested an UNCLE agent with the greatest experience where THRUSH is concerned, and I'm sending them two. Do behave yourselves."

Napoleon stood, adjusting his suit.

"Don't worry, sir, we are the experts in all matters THRUSH. And I think Illya is professional enough to...offset my American charms. Between the two of us, I think..."

Illya ignored Napoleon, his mind already on the mission. Aside from the opportunity for redemption, the possibility of catching a few winks on the ride over was more than appealing. He and Napoleon both headed for the door.

"Three of you."

The words stopped them, paralyzing Napoleon and Illya, before both forced themselves to face Waverly.

"Pardon, sir?" Napoleon spoke somewhat hesitantly as he felt he already knew.

Waverly's eyes moved from the agents to the lone portrait on the conference table.

"This assignment is a joint venture."

Napoleon visibly winced. Illya groaned.

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AN: So who exactly is John Drake? He's the main character in the TV series "Danger Man" (also known as "Secret Agent") portrayed by Patrick McGoohan. While this remains a MFU fic, you don't need prior familiarity with Drake or Her Majesty's Secret Service, but I do highly recommend the show to anyone with an interest in '60s spy stuff.


End file.
